


Great Expectations

by Ataleofterror



Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Canon Universe, Desperation, Dirty Talk, Hate Sex, Jealousy, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:20:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29295798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ataleofterror/pseuds/Ataleofterror
Summary: It's Carnival, and Cornelius Hickey and John Bridgens are both heart-sick at the sight of Billy Gibson and Harry Peglar dancing, so they take a step outside...
Relationships: Cornelius Hickey/John Bridgens, William Gibson/Henry "Harry" Peglar
Kudos: 3





	Great Expectations

**Author's Note:**

> In chapters because I have bunch of deadlines

Hickey knocks on the wall next to Bridgens’ curtain in a rare act of courtesy. The ice has packed them in and there is a little more movement between both ships now that they are steady neighbours.

“Yes, come in!” Bridgens is expecting Henry and is surprised to see a small, furtive-looking man lurking outside his berth. He’s seen the same look in men coming to see him before. He recognises it well.

“I heard you were the man to see about books,” the man says sheepishly. 

“I do a lesson every Sunday after service, you’re welcome to join, son. There’s no shame in it. You’re not the first and you won’t be the last.”

Hickey looks confused for a moment and a bemused smile breaks across his face when he realises the man thinks he can’t read.

“Can you write your name, do numbers?” Bridgens asks kindly.

“I’m not an illiterate, Mr Bridgens,” he says in a mock-jovial tone. “I’m after books. Dickens, if you have any. I’ve gone through what’s to be had on Terror.”

“Oh, please accept my apologies...”

“Hickey.”

“Mr. Hickey, apologies… often when a man comes knocking on my door, it’s for help with writing and such.”

“ABs, you mean. Not too many illiterate officers, I should think.”

“No,” John says awkwardly, keen to right the wrong note he’s sounded with the conversation.

“The Dickens, if you have it?”

Bridgens is unnerved by the look Hickey gives him and fumbles around on his bookshelf, finding a copy of Bleak House.

“I meant no offence, Mr. Hickey, truly,” Bridgens pleads as he hands over the book.

“No need to apologise,” Hickey replies, snatching it out of his hands and departing as quickly as he came. He brushes past Henry, who notices John looking out of sorts as he heads into his cabin.

“What was that about?” he asks as he opens John’s curtain. 

“Oh, nothing. I may have put my foot in it with Mr. Hickey.”

“What did he want?” 

“He wanted a book, Henry, and I thought he was after basic instruction. I think I may have offended him.”

“What did you give him?”

“He was after Dickens, of all things.” He and Henry share an amused glance.

“Don’t concern yourself about him, John. You’re not the first one to come up against him.”

“How’s that?”

“Well, he’s a caulker’s mate who reads Dickens, first of all. How many of them do you know?” They share a laugh.

“And there’s talk about him on Terror. He’s not well liked. He’s always causing trouble, grousing, has duty owing, whispering in people’s ears. And there are… rumours…” Henry gives him a meaningful look.

John looks momentarily concerned.

“Rumours, what kind of rumours?”

“About his… inclinations. And a certain officers’ steward.”

John rushes to close the curtain. “Keep your voice down Henry, for God’s sake. And keep away from that man if he’s attracting attention. Has the Captain noticed him?”

“Well, John, apparently the Captain offered him a drink, and this has done nothing but puff up his feathers even more.”

“A drink with the Captain?!”

“He was in caulking the privy, and Crozier doesn’t like to miss an opportunity to raise a toast, I’m sure.”

“Mind how you go, Henry,” John says, placing his hand gently on Henry’s arm. “You don’t want to be the one causing talk now, do you?” John leaves his hand on Henry’s arm a fraction of a second longer than strictly necessary. Memories of their time on the Wanderer come springing back to John’s mind and he dares to look Henry in the eye, sure that he too is thinking of that precious time.

“I’d best be off,” Henry says, pulling his arm away as if he’s been burnt. “I’ll see you at the football match.”

*

The night of Carnival arrives and Billy Gibson and Henry Peglar are dancing slowly in the sea of other men. Both are red-cheeked and merry. They are close but not close enough to cause unwanted attention, especially on a night such as Carnival. They are being keenly observed by two other men on opposite sides of the melee. 

Cornelius Hickey, gentleman, exits the scene in disgust. He’s no desire to see Billy making a fool of himself over some young ruddy-cheeked boy. He lights a cigarette and watches his breath float away as another figure joins him outside the tent.

“Bridgens.”

“Mr. Hickey. Inspired by Great Expectations for your costume, were you?”

“If I’m Pip, that makes you Miss Havisham, I wager.”

“How’s that then?”

“I think you know very well what I mean, Mr. Bridgens,” Hickey offers with a smirk.

“I’m sure I’ve no idea what you mean.”

“You don’t need to pretend with me Bridgens, I’ve seen the way you look at him.”

“You’ve had too much rum, Mr. Hickey. It’s gone to your head.”

“You needn’t feign ignorance around a man who was lashed for “dirtiness,” John.” This is the first time Hickey has ventured to call him by his first name. “I’ve seen you looking all starry-eyed at a certain Mr. Peglar.”

“I’m fond of the lad, certainly, there’s nothing untoward about that, Hickey,” John says with irritation.

“Indeed. And there was a time when I was fond of Billy Gibson. Seems they’re rather fond of each other, now,” he says with some bitterness, turning to look John in the eye.

“Did he let you fuck him?” Hickey asks in a flat tone.

Bridgens is taken aback by his coarse language. “Jesus Christ Hickey, keep your voice down, or have you got a taste for lashing now?”

“Oh, they’re all lushy now, Bridgens, and the Captain is still stricken by ‘gastritis’. For once, we can be frank.”

“You can be as frank as you like, Hickey, I’ll not return the favour.”

Hickey turns around again and smokes his cigarette, leaning on a crate, looking into the distance.

“Billy Gibson used to let me fuck him. Then that jumped-up bastard Irving had to get in the way and ruin my nice situation. So tell, me, did Peglar let you fuck him?”

“I don’t care for this conversation,” Bridgens says, turning on his heel to go back inside.

“You’d like to though, wouldn’t you? A dirty old man fucking a young lad like that? You must be old enough to be his father.”

“I won’t have you speak to me like that, Mr. Hickey.”

“You’ve fucked other lads though, haven’t you? Gone looking for young, soft-faced ones that look like him down the docks, I’ll bet, on lonely nights. Did he ever let you have him?”

Hickey comes forward and looks Bridgens in the eye. He is uncomfortably close.

“Once,” Bridgens says, giving up all attempts at pretence and finding comfort in using this coarse little man as his confessor.

“Once. And that was enough to keep you pining all these years?” Hickey asks, looking genuinely confused.

“Yes,” Johns says quietly.

“You must be aching for it now.”

“Perhaps,” he says sadly, thinking of Henry and his gentle, sweet eyes.

“I took a shit in Billy Gibson’s bed when he dobbed me in.” Bridgens screws up his face in disgust.

“A man is free to take away his affections just as he is to give them, Mr. Hickey.”

Hickey throws his cigarette on the ground with sudden determination and turns towards John. 

“And are you free to give your affections now?” he asks, tilting his head inquisitively as he places his hand on John’s crotch.

John is simultaneously thrilled and ashamed to feel himself stirring at the slightest touch like an adolescent. 

It has been so long…


End file.
